


Beat You Like A Snare Drum

by AlyKat



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Blake tries to kill Phil, Break Up, Crack Fic, Drummer Phil, F/M, Heartbreak, I dunno. Phil's trying to become a teacher and Clint's a student, I'm sorry. I'm lame like that., It says break up but there's a happy ending, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Not even any porn, Okay yeah sure there's a plot after all., Phil's a student teacher, Various characters from the MCU are mentioned, Well i guess there is a plot. Blake going nuts and Clint deciding to get Phil back, and the whole thing is crack so it's funny anyways, background Maria/Jasper, background Natasha/Bucky, i think..., implications of a romantic relationship between 21 year old and 17 year old, should this be tagged Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is suffering from a broken heart. Even if it was his idea to end things with Clint, he still hurt deeply and his drum set was the best way to keep from hitting someone. Even at the expense of his roommate's sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat You Like A Snare Drum

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack. It was suppose to be just a quick little fic inspired by a couple of posts on Tumblr: One wishing for a story where BB!Phil plays the drums and drives his roommate Felix Blake completely crazy by drumming on everything; and the other a gifset for Young Avengers featuring the six main movie cast members looking as close to high school age as possible. I tossed in a gif of Clark Gregg from his episode of Law and Order when he was much younger and in the tags said he was their student teacher. And gave myself plot bunnies. Then this happened. Really, this was suppose to just be a short little thing. Then Blake started bantering with Maria. And Natasha's parents apparently unofficially adopted Fitz. And Blake tried to kill Phil. And yeah...it became total crack and longer than I planned and I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> I am sorry though if you are squicked out by teacher/student relations. It's only implicated that Clint and Phil were sleeping together while Phil was teaching there. Also yeah, Clint's underaged. There's a whole slew of probably wrong here, but it kept me amused and occupied so...*shrugs*
> 
> This is unbeta'd and written in the dead of night when I should be sleeping. So all mistakes are mine and I apologize.
> 
> Standard Disclaimer: Marvel's toys, I'm just playing with 'em.

Phil couldn’t breathe past the lump in his throat, the tightness in his chest. His button up shirt and tight both felt like they were strangling him as he wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks one more time. He could feel the tears prickling in the back of his eyes, but refused to let them fall. He _couldn’t_ let them fall. This was for the best. It really was. They’d had fun --dangerous, exploring, a bit illegal and definitely unethical fun-- but it was fun. 

And now…

“It’s over, Clint,” The words tasted cold and metallic in his mouth as he forced them out, wondering if they came out sounding even half as steady as they were suppose to be or if they wavered every bit as badly as he thought they had. 

He watched the smile fall from Clint’s face, watched the young man’s world crumble around him, the hurt appear in his eyes. God, he’d done that! He was the cause of all that pain flashing across those gorgeous blue-greens! There was literally nothing he wanted more than to pull Clint in his arms, kiss his face, his neck, his shoulders, apologize up one side and down the other. To take the words back. But he couldn’t. 

“It’s over.” With a finite nod, Phil turned and most definitely did not make a run for his car. Except that he totally did. 

~*~*~*~*~

Clint lay on the floor in the hallway, his full sized locker door open and his head resting on the bottom of the locker. His hand was on the door, swinging it back and forth, preparing to slam it shut on himself and idly wondering if it would cause any serious damage or not. Maybe it would work like a guillotine? Probably not. Not sharp enough. If he turned his head though, and did it just right maybe it could hit his adam’s apple and--

“You’re being pathetic. Sit up.”

“No.”

“Your locker door isn’t going to solve things. Sit up, stop pouting and start using your brain,” Natasha caught the door before Clint could slam it on himself and frowned down at him. “You know, that gray matter housed in the lump atop your shoulders that you’re pathetically trying to chop off.”

With a groan, Clint sat up and put his head in his hands. “Phil broke up with me last night. I don’t wanna be here anymore. He’s still here and acting like nothing changed, and I--”

“ _You_ need to grow a pair and also pretend nothing changed. There’s three weeks of school left. One week with him here. You can survive five more days of seeing him without blowing him.”

“Dammit, Natasha! Shut up!” His eyes wide and frantic, Clint looked up and down the hallway making sure no one heard her. The last thing he wanted to do was get Phil fired and tossed out of the teaching program for having a relationship with a student! Worse! He could not only get him fired and tossed out, but being that Clint was still three and a half weeks shy of turning eighteen, he could --by all legal rights and laws-- wind up with Phil getting arrested and tossed in prison! Jesus Fuck! No wonder Phil had called things off! Clint alone had the power to seriously, seriously ruin his life! 

Taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard before lifting his eyes to meet his best friend’s. “It’s only one more week?”

Natasha’s smile turned soft, fond. The kind of smile that terrified a lot of people because they never knew if it meant they were about to be disappeared or not. “Just five more days. And of those five days, you only have to see him two of them. Tomorrow and Thursday.”

“So,” Clint wet his lips before looking off down the hall towards the door that was between him and the guy he’d fallen hopelessly in love with, “so I have two more days to look-but-don’t touch, and then--”

“And then, at the end of the three weeks, you can rush to his apartment and throw yourself at him if you want to.” Her hand extended, a piece of paper held carefully between her fingers. A street address scrawled across it in an unfamiliar scribble. 

“What--?”

“Don’t ask. Let’s just say, I owe Maria Hill a favor which means you owe me an even bigger one somewhere down the road. Now c’mon, get up off the floor. We have eight more P.E. classes to sit sullenly through before we never have to run laps around a gym ever again.”

Pushing himself back up to his feet, the paper carefully tucked into his pocket, Clint linked arms with his best friend, a renewed hope in his heart and a smug little smirk on his face. “Oh how I will miss traumatizing the underclassmen, though.”

~*~*~*~*~

Phil’s last day of teaching was bittersweet. There were students he would miss --Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanov, the ones who actually behaved and listened to him and didn’t give him any shit-- and there were, of course, the ones he wouldn’t miss --he wasn’t going to name any names but WadeWilsonTonyStarkPeterQuillBuckyBarnes-- and then there was the one he would miss above all others. The one who had made his life so difficult and so amazing. Had reminded him how to have fun and to laugh and that teaching was about making sure the students were engaged and learning, not just shuffling through the motions and memorizing pointless and useless, cluttering information. 

Phil wasn’t going to think about Clint Barton though. He made it through the week without having any kind of breakdowns, he even survived the two classes he had with Clint Tuesday and Thursday --U.S. History and U.S. Government. So long as he kept reminding himself it was for the best, he would make it. 

Besides, they were both still young --Clint seventeen, only weeks away from eighteen and oh didn’t that just make Phil feel all kinds of skeevy for having allowed anything to happen between them? And Phil would be turning twenty-two in July-- they had plenty of time to get over their heartaches and learn to fall in love again. 

Now if only he could convince himself he could fall in love with someone else. 

By the time he made it back to his apartment that last day, Phil was ready to throw something, punch through the wall, yell at the top of his lungs about the injustice of it all. Instead, he threw his messenger bag against the back of the couch, left his laptop on the coffee table, yanked at his tie and settled himself behind his drum kit. He’d take his frustration out on his poor old drums again, and with any luck wake his roommate Felix up. Misery loved company, right? 

~*~*~*~*~

“You have to get him out of my apartment,”

Maria lifted her eyes from her textbook, a carefully sculpted brow arched and only giving the appearance of being interested. “Excuse me?”

Felix Blake dropped down across the cafe’ table from her, jostling it with his load of books and sending her ice tea tipping dangerously close to falling over. Not that he cared. Maria knew that he didn’t. Felix --or Blake, as most people simply referred to him as-- rarely really cared about much. Unless it had to do with girls. Then, _then_ he cared. 

“Coulson. You have to get him out of my apartment before I smash a cymbal over his head.”

Sighing heavily, Maria picked up her tea and leaned back in her seat, arms half folded over her chest. “What makes you think I have any control over getting him out of the apartment? He’s not my problem.”

“No, he’s not. But you know what? I will make him your problem if you don’t get him out of there.”

Such empty and bland threats were really almost amusing coming from him. Considering it for a moment, she finally nodded, pulling a slow sip from her drink. 

“What’s he doing?” She finally asked, sitting back upright but not setting her glass back down on the table. She knew better. 

Blake flailed his hands dramatically, knocking into the underside of the table, sending it rocking and her book toppling to the ground. “What’s he doing?! For the past eight days he has been treating his drums like they personally offended him and he’s teaching them a lesson! Any time anyone even _mentions_ student teaching or Shield Academy, he spends two or more hours pretending he’s Vinnie Colaiuta!”

Maria’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “Who?”

“Vinnie Colaiuta. Drummer for Frank Zappa.”

She blinked, her face carefully and skillfully blank.

“Megadeath?”

Again she blinked. 

Blake sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sting?”

“Ooooooo...Sting’s hot.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Fact remains, Coulson is about three more kick drum beats away from getting his sticks shoved up his ass,”

Maria opened her mouth, the obvious joke right on the tip of her tongue before Blake amended his statement. “Sideways. They’d be sideways. He wouldn’t enjoy it.” With a sigh, Blake sat back in his seat and ran his hand down his face before scrubbing both hands through his dark hair. “What the absolute fuck happened at that damn school to make him act like he has been?”

“How the hell should I know? Why don’t you just ask him yourself? Or is that too much sharing and feelings for you to deal with?” Asked Maria, a smug smirk on her face as Blake glared through his fingers at her. 

“It is. Actually. And I _know_ that you know, because you graduated from there and still know people who go there who would know what the hell happened.”

Did Maria know what had happened? Of course she did. Natasha was one of her best friends. They’d bonded over a mutual aggravation at having to take Family and Consumer Science --the school’s fancy way of saying Home Ec-- instead of Metal Works --what Maria had wanted to take-- and Advanced Martial Arts which Natasha wasn’t _allowed_ to take...for very good reasons. Natasha had told her everything that had happened, and everything that was hopefully _going_ to happen.

Was Maria going to tell Blake? Not a fat chance in burning Hades’ Hell. 

“Look, Blake,” She drew in a deep breath, readying herself for what she was about to say. “I do know what happened, but I can’t tell _you_. People would get into trouble if I told you. So I’m not going to. All I will say, is that with any luck, if there really is a God up there who has mercy on us, in another week or so Coulson will be back to his old self. Or worse. He’ll be _happier_ than ever.”

Blake shuddered at that thought and honestly, Maria had to agree. A happy Coulson was good to see and have, but it was also disgustingly adorable. Cringe worthy even. Especially a happy Coulson in love, when his eyes go all huge and anime and there might as well be freaking hearts and stars sparkling in them.

“That’s just disgusting.” Grumbled Blake, still shuddering and shaking his head. “I want him out of my apartment before that happens.” 

Sighing, Maria shook her head as she stooped to finally pick her book up off the floor. “Well, just make yourself scarce for a few days at the end of the semester. Go hang out at the Frat house and watch Garrett convince Ward to go running naked through the neighborhood drunk again.”

A slow smirk creeped up Blake’s face, twisting his features and making him look almost like the Grinch when he plotted to steal Christmas. “That was funny. Last time he did it while singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.”

“I’m not surprised.” Maria muttered. “Ward would probably engage in auto-fellato if Garrett told him to do it.”

There was a long, awkward pause as Blake stared slack-jawed at Maria. Lifting her eyes from her book again, she shrugged as if what she said wasn’t anything unreasonable at all. “What? It’s true.”

“You are a sick woman, Maria Hill. Sick and twisted and please tell me you’re free Friday night so I can take you out.”

Standing to gather her things, Maria shook her head. “Ha. Try Melinda if you’re feeling brave. Jasper’s making me dinner Friday night. Foie Gras-steamed clams, homemade coconut shrimp, and roasted lobster with verjus and Tarragon.”

Blake’s nose scrunched as he gathered his own books, watching as the younger woman went sauntering off towards the cafe’s door. “I have no idea what any of that shit is.”

“Neither do I,” Maria answered, pausing at the door to glance back over her shoulder and smirk coyly. “But it’s gonna get him laid.” 

~*~*~*~*~

Clint fidgeted with his dress shirt and tie. He hated getting dressed up to begin with, but for graduation it really just seemed incredibly pointless. His clothes were covered by his black gown anyway, so why did it matter if he was wearing a dress shirt and tie under it, or a comfortable T-shirt? It wasn’t like there was anyone there to cheer him on that he had to look nice for, after all. 

If Phil was going to be there, he would have had no problems getting all dressed up. Hell, he might have even put some gel in his hair and make that look nice too, instead of his current style of ‘I’ve been too depressed to wash it the past few days and never bothered with it once I got out of bed this morning’. 

Well, alright, he did at least wash it. Natasha made sure of that. And there were a few people there to cheer for him. His foster mom managed to get time off work to at least show up for the ceremony, and Natasha’s parents were there and God knew they treated him like the son they never had. Still, the most important person Clint wanted to be there, wasn’t. 

It was a thought that hung with him as he stood in the hallway, staring down at his black cap sadly, the blue and silver tassel swaying loosely from the top little button.

“You stand there and look like a man ready to die, Little Hawk,” A sweet but thickly accented voice said, suddenly appearing beside him. It startled him enough to nearly make him drop his cap as he looked up. 

The much taller, broader built man beside the small, petite woman laughed a loud, commanding belly laugh as he clapped Clint on the back. And that was enough to make him actually drop his cap. 

“Little Hawk! You are not a man ready to die, are you? You and our Natalia, both so serious all the time.”

Stooping to pick up his cap, Clint gave a faint smile. They weren’t serious _all_ the time. Hell, Clint kind of wondered if he really had a truly serious bone in his body most days. Right then, though? Well, right then he felt like Nicholi and Danika Romanova weren’t at all far off from the truth. 

“Just puttin’ my brain to good use and thinkin’, that’s all. Glad you guys could make it. I know it means a lot to Natasha.”

Danika smiled, moving in closer to hug Clint tight. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and Clint couldn’t help smile back. Natasha certainly got her looks and size from her mother. Her intimidating air and deadly glare and the ability to create a threat with the greatest of ease and deadpan expression? That was all Nicholi. 

“You come to the house after the ceremony. We have plenty of food and cakes to share.” Danika whispered as she pulled back, cupping his cheek fondly. Clint nodded but remained silent while Leo Fitz, one of the Junior marshals stepped forward to hand the Romanova’s a program and show them to an empty pair of seats.

Clint laughed out loud as he watched Fitz’s eyes get wider and wider the higher up he had to look before he met Nicholi’s firm and unimpressed glare, and he was almost certain the poor little junior very nearly wet himself. 

“M-Mr. Romanov. Mr-Mrs. Romanov? If you’ll--”

“Romanova.” Nicholi grumbled, a furrow forming between his brows. “Only Natalia uses Romanov.” 

Pressing his lips together, Clint forced back more laughter as Fitz audibly gulped. 

Beside her husband, Danika tsk’d, “Nicholi, don’t frighten the boy.” Her tone softened as she motioned Fitz to start back into the gymnasium. “Go ahead, _Mishka_.” 

Clint bit down on his laughter again, watching Fitz start to scurry back for the already crowded gym, glance back nervously a couple of times and finally disappear into the horde of people waiting. Securing his cap to his head --and fairly certain it was going to cut all circulation off to his brain at some point during the ceremony-- he dug into his pocket for his phone to thumb a quick message to Natasha. He hated how she was towards the middle of the line and he was at the beginning. At least he had Bucky to joke with during the painfully long graduation. 

[text] _Pretty sure your mom just adopted Fitz. She called him Mishka and your dad about scared the piss out of him._

It was barely a minute later when a reply came back through. 

[text] _He’s an adorable little bear. You and James need to both stop scowling, you’re scaring people. Give him a kiss for me. C U on the other side._

[text] _Kiss him yourself! I know where his mouth has been!_

Turning his phone off, Clint took a deep breath and forced just the faintest of smiles onto his face as the music started and the graduates began to file in. Just a few more hours and then he’d be free. No longer a high school student. Free! 

That thought kept the small smile in place as he walked in. The realization that he was only a few more hours away from being able to storm Phil’s apartment and kiss him stupid made his smile grow more and more sincere, and suddenly Clint was very glad to be wearing loose khakis and that damn hot gown. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Phil stared at the clock on the wall. He knew what time the graduation had started, and what time it was due to end. The seconds ticked by in a horrible mock of a beat in his head, the minutes the off-counter beat. With a groan, he pushed himself off the couch and shoved his earbuds back in, blasting his iPod as he set down at his drums again. 

His eyes closed, he beat across the plastic heads, hard and fast to the music, unaware of the figure looming in the doorway. Had his music not been so loud, and his mind not so distracted, he would have heard that frustrated and fed up yell of “THAT’S _IT_!!” that filled the apartment just before he was tackled away from his drum kit. 

Blake fought tooth and nail --literally!-- to get the drumsticks away from Phil. Phil, who went into fight-or-flight mode and was kicking and flailing his way out from under the taller guy. In the struggle, his earbuds were ripped from his ears, a cymbal went crashing to the floor. Limbs were flying every which way as Phil finally got his feet under him and went running for the other side of the couch, panicked and slightly terrified of his roommate. 

“What the fuck?!”

“Give me those fucking drumsticks, Coulson!” Blake demanded, arm outstretched and hand flexing. 

Phil shook his head, holding the beaten and worn sticks close to his chest. “No! Why should I?” 

“So I can shove them up your ass! Sideways!”

“What?! No! What...Fuck no!”

Blake nodded and slowly inched closer to the couch. “Alright then,” He said, voice eerily calm and steady. “Then hold still so I can shove ‘em down your throat!” 

Phil would deny it to his dying day, to his very last breath, that he gave anything other than the most manly and dignified yells of surprise when Blake launched himself over the couch to make another dive for him. He most certainly did not let out a horrified screech like a middle school girl. Absolutely not. 

He ran through the apartment, wishing he’d taken Nick up on the offer of learning the fine art of parkour, and cringed as he knocked chairs and end tables down in the process of getting away from his clearly insane roommate. Getting trapped in the kitchen hadn’t exactly been the brightest idea he’d ever had, especially not when the knife drawer was closer to Blake than it was to him. But then, the apartment door was just to his left. Three steps and he could be out it. 

“Blake,” Phil started, hands held up, both sticks in his left hand. “Felix. C’mon, man. Calm down. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Right? No need to ...SHIT!” He ducked quickly as a mug shattered against the wall, right at the spot his head would have been. Making a dive for the door, Phil threw it open just as a fist came down to knock on it, nailing him in the nose instead. 

He stumbled backwards in surprise at the same moment the drumsticks were ripped from his hand, and that a body collided with him from the doorway. He was under attack! At least he thought so, until warm lips were pressed against his and a tongue was forcing its way down his throat. Behind him, Blake froze, arm raised and drumsticks in hand, ready to bring them down on Phil’s head again and again. 

“What the absolute fuck?” He asked, staring down at the guy currently shoving Phil against the kitchen table to practically crawl into him. 

Coming to his senses finally, Phil pushed the body off him and stared in surprise as he held Clint at arm’s length. “Clint? What are you--”

“I graduated!” Exclaimed Clint. “I graduated and you’re not teaching at Shield anymore and I turn eighteen in like five days. Which means it’s totally cool for us to start fucking again!” 

The drumsticks clattered to the tile floor, though Clint appeared not to notice as he continued to grin brightly at Phil. 

“Clint! I--”

“You’ve been beating on those damn drums for three weeks all because you haven’t been getting _laid_?!” With a frustrated growl, Blake shoved past them both, kicking the drumsticks out of his way as he went. 

Clint and Phil both turned to watch the other man storm out the door, muttering to himself about beatings and alcohol and sexually frustrated roommates. Looking back to Phil, Clint tilted his head like a curious bird. 

“What’s his problem?”

Phil shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

With another shrug, Clint threw himself back at Phil, pressing himself in close again to keep the kiss deep and filthy. Phil’s hand wrapped around Clint’s tie, keeping him in place before using it as a guide to pull him off towards the couch, carefully avoiding the path of destruction he and Blake had left behind in their chase. 

A part of his mind still screamed that he was going to get into so much trouble for what he was doing, but a larger part --that was maybe short a little blood at the moment-- squashed that scream quick enough. After all, Clint was right, he was graduated now, and hey, what people didn’t know about them wasn’t going to hurt them. Right? Right.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I don't even know if the ending even makes sense or is any good. It's 5:00 in the morning. I've been up since 7:30-ish yesterday morning. Regrets? Maybe just a few...


End file.
